"Okay, so no pressure," Niall said, tossing you an apron. "But that espresso machine? She’s a diva."

You tried to laugh, but your hands were already shaking from nerves.

"Hey," he added, voice softer now, "you’ve got this. Just breathe. Worst case, you serve someone decaf on accident and they scream at you."

Before you could respond, the front door swung open.

"Niall!" a panicked voice called.

Both of you turned to see Harry Styles holding his hands out like a science experiment.

"I spilled matcha. My hands are green. I look like Kermit."

Niall muttered, "Not again."